His sweaty eyes held mine. Still reeling from Mrs. Parson’s death, I knew if I made one wrong move Bruno would murder me. Through the open glass wall I could see Gerald in the living room pacing in a small circle, dragging his hands through his dyed hair. “Jesus fucking Christ, Parson’s going to kill us!” Next to him, the rent-a-cop stood, stricken. Gerald stopped pacing. He had an idea. “We have to shoot her. We can’t let her go,” he said to Bruno. “Shut up, you useless piece of shit.” Bruno’s arm shot out and he clamped a hand on my wrist. My back was only inches from the railing—he could easily toss me over to join Mrs. Parson. But the pain from his death-grip caused my mind to click into gear. I talked quickly: “Your only chance to get out of this alive is if Parson never finds out I was here.” Bruno tightened his squeeze on my wrist.
